Writings of a creature
My poems that I interpret as done
I’m tired and defeated
of holding onto every sentence,
of empty words and feelings,
of empty promises and schisms,
of drifting into the abyss between:
ideation
and
realization
tiring talks of keeping
but not sprouting
tired of seeding
just for your weed to eat it
tired of empty pity
just to be pitted against me.
on my knees, I beg you rain:
come and make this land useful again
bathe me in your beads
make my tears be gone
beneath your blessings
don’t let the wind carry you off
don’t leave me on my dusty knees
with my cracked lips
and my stained cheeks
to be left alone
in a crowded place
a bliss or a curse
to see the world spinning
while you are static
hoping to be remembered
while being passed through
I just wanted peace
not to be forgotten
but it spins too fast for me
and I’m too slow to be recalled
What am I, but a drink spilled?
A stepped-on bouquet after a party.
A shredded letter of a broken love.
A stained long-distance memory.
I was supposed to be a flower,
but I was trampled and neglected
by the one who was to take care of me.
What am I, but a cracked glass,
unfit to hold emotions inside?
Too much for myself,
too much for others.
An annoyance.
What is this?
A supposed poem?
But it’s me trashing words,
or am I trashing myself?
In the dark, they creep.
Vine-like arms, seek
prey like you.
Innocence is lost at dusk,
your mind is reduced to a husk,
behind eye’s bars, you are stuck.
Sinking restraints crept.
Holding you in place.
Trying again to make you fade.
Moonlight shines at the window
illuminating your scared face,
trembling limbs, shedding leaves, discase.
Shivering air suffocates,
the pressure starts to ache
it comes from everywhere –
and you won’t escape.
Someday, life will take off. Someday,
you will see blue skies. Someday,
you will be over the clouds. Someday,
someday…
the runway will end.
I stand
Through torment and torrent
Alone
I stand
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